The Liar's Club

Six Chicago based bloggers with hearts of gold and cast-iron livers.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

I was riding the red line late at night on Saturday, and some guy was by the machine where you purchase your swipe cards asking me if I had a single. He was by one of the machines looking for one more single in his wallet, but clearly he was looking for a number of singles to buy other stuff. This sounds really cynical and shitty of me, but you'll just have to trust me that that it was definitely what was happening here. When I gave him the single, he then thought it was a great time to launch into a political discussion, with no segue at all, about Obama and Romney. At this point I was inching away towards that turnstile, making exiting comments with no success. I'm just too damn nice.

One thing I do remember is that when I asked how he was doing, he said "You know, things are sketchy but not shady, you know?" No. I actually have no idea what that means.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

I went to an art show in the Ukrainian Village neighborhood of Chicago, which I pictured was a bunch of aristocrats in a giant white room, discussing paintings while loosely gripping their wine sifters, not looking at one another, just transfixed on what looks to the untrained eye to be a sloppy figure eight, but in reality you could bullshit your way through convincing someone it's a statement about America's caloric intake. I really wanted to be that guy for the evening. I even put on a (probably fake) velvet sport coat that a guest left in my old apartment a few years back.

It turns out it was just a hole in the wall bar with PBR on tap and a few paintings on the walls, one above the CSI pinball machine. But this place was familiar to me. Yes! That was around the third and for sure the last bar I made it to the night of my first marathon. When you run that much, a few beers can knock you on your ass, but I do remember being there because there was a stocky Latino and/or Black (can't remember for sure) guy sweating his ass off dancing around by himself tirelessly from one end of the bar to the other in a style that was equal parts rave party and Tai Chi. He seemed to really annoy the bartender every time he would come within a few feet of him, but you can't really throw him out because he wasn't drunk or causing any trouble. Dude just liked to dance. He told my buddy HLP (Heterosexual Life Partner) and myself that it was his own brand of dance that he invented. He didn't seem to have many friends.

Here is the shit hole in question. An unlikely spot for a high class art exhibit.

I texted HLP to ask him if Rainbo Club was the same place we went into that night with the silly man dancing around like the place like a sweaty karate raver.

"Ah, yes. Tae Kwon Flow."

After that I just left because HLP made it clear that there was no way I was going to have a funnier night in that joint than that night.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Anyone ever seen this guy downtown? I've only seen him in the loop, generally in the vicinity of Daley Plaza. Today he was at the NE corner of Clark and Washington. He literally blows a double-toot on his whistle every minute, his sign says something about the FBI being a rape headquarters, and his yellow smock reads something about Obama and the American flag. The only thing I can figure out is that his hat indicates he's a dad. Luckily, my dad lives in California, so at least this dude's not related to me. But seriously, who is he and exactly what is he protesting?

As I stood across the street to take this picture I had other questions about this man (I probably looked like a creepy office worker, but I'm hoping I looked dowdy enough after the holiday weekend to look like a creepy tourist, but I digress...). For example, he is really tan from standing outside all day, so what SPF does he use? Does he use any sunblock at all?!? Where does he go to pee? Does he switch off between Starbucks and Lavazza? I need answers, people!

Monday, August 20, 2012

Last week I attended a networking event atBad Dog Tavern
in Lincoln Square. I was stoked to be in my old ‘hood and met some cool
people. A few new connections I made were recent Chicago transplants.
One guy I met had recently stumbled upon what is now his new
favorite bar: Blue Stem Martini Lounge.

Our group of five jumped into a cab and headed south to this place. Now I
had heard of this bar before, but had never been. Upon arrival, the
place was dead. But it was by no means lacking character in the form of
Lefko: the bar owner and martini concoct-ress. We sat down at the bar,
and she greeted us in a raspy, smoker, south-side voice.

Me: Wow, there are so many choices, I don’t know what I want!

Lefko: Ok, honey, what do ya ordah when ya go to da bar?

Me: I’m a beer girl.

Lefko:
Ok, I’m gunna make ya something called the Clee-ah. [Makes drink, and
pours out a sample in the martini glass] Give it a try, honey.

Me: Wow! That’s delicious!

Lefko: I know, I know...[pours the rest of the martini into the glass]

Me: You’re like, the “Martini Whisperer”!

Lefko: Oh gawd, you-ah too sweet!

And
so we drank martinis and played songs on the jukebox for a few hours. I
had the bad misfortune of picking one of my favorite childhood songs
that has a cowboy singing the N-word (not the reason why it's a childhood favorite, mind you), and that song just happened to
come on when the only other patron of the night enters the bar. Did I
mention he was black? Poor timing, Urbanist, poor timing.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

We have some new authors at The Liars Club: Oates and Urbanist Chic. The two of them, along with founding member, Dr. Kenneth Noisewater, will start updating you with funny and interesting things and people in their fine city of Chicago very soon. To be up and running again is exciting news, so we hope that you will come by for some laughs, whether you're a Chicagoan or a person who just enjoys goofy stories told by goofy folks.

It's a shame that the other three founding members are no longer contributors at The Liar's Club, but since I know you're all curious, we will share with you what we do know about those wonderful Liars . . .

Classy and Fancy is Macarena instructor. She is finding it hard to find patrons, what with it being such an outdated dance and a fairly simple one that doesn't require much instruction, so to supplement her income, she is moonlighting as a Lambada teacher.

The last word we got from The Cherry Ride, he was following his dream of constructing his dream home out of bricks of Velveeta. We're told that he spends a lot of time at home because that's where he is happiest, but when he does make trips to pick up necessities, he goes in the panda suit that his grandmother knitted for him.

Five of Niner has been keeping a very low profile for quite a long time, but one member of the Liars staff was quite sure they spotted him working as a roadie (slave) for the band Gwar, wearing a loin cloth and firing the crapapult at Gor Gor. We hope this is true because he would be quite happy with that dress code, since a loin cloth was what he preferred to wear in his cubicle around our office, despite numerous talks with HR about his "ball slips."

Who knows, with the original Liars still being admins, we may see the day when they hit us with some updates, but we think you'll find the new Liars Club contributors to be equally insane, so don't be a stranger . . .

Thursday, October 6, 2011

That Dylan McDermott is an asshole because he was mostly naked like 10% of that show in much better shape than me despite being older than me, and he made me go for a run and pull-ups and sit-ups. Then again, I'm glad I'm running now because I had that beef sandwich. That I'm burping up now. Shouldn't have gotten the hot peppers.

I know I don't listen to enough new music, but they just don't make albums like "OK Computer" anymore. Hell, Radiohead makes really good music these days, but even they don't make anything anywhere near as good as this anymore. It's kind of like sports where you can't possibly make your best work past a certain age, that is without performance enhancing drugs. Roger Clemens threw harder at 40 than he did when he was 20. There is no equivalent of that in rock. If Roger Clemens had a rock band, maybe called "Rocket," even if they were good, the stuff he put out in his 40's wouldn't be nearly as good. Sure, you can make good music in late adulthood, but it just won't have that power, angst, edge, evilness, and sexiness that it did in your youth when you were young and crazy.

Hold that note, Radiohead, I gotta hit pause and hear what this saxophone guy sounds like in this tunnel. Hmmmm. Sounds like he's just tuning up or something. And it smells like piss. I know these guys probably get better acoustics in these tunnels, but why don't they just play in the open air? How can they stand that piss stench? Maybe the stink makes them blow a little hint of the blues into their horn . . .

The best song by the oldest possible guy was "Harvest Moon" by Neil Young. I'll have to look up how old he was when he recorded that one when I get home. Maybe blog about it. Eh, who am I kidding; there's no topic in that.